


Le problème avec l'Amour

by Ms_Sarabi



Category: Les Twins
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Romance, Violence, threesomes will ensue at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Sarabi/pseuds/Ms_Sarabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Translated: The Problem with Love [Charlotte Gray was a miserable woman who had never traveled any farther than her southern home in the Carolinas. When her friend Kat proposes a drastic change in venue, in career, and in her life, things take a wild turn for seemingly the worse before they get better. Can she land the job on the Twins new tour? Can she do it without falling in love...with either one of them? Or will she return home broken hearted and jobless? Who knows. That's the problem with love, after all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying my hardest to make this an amazing Les Twins fic. I find the lack of them on here rather saddening so the first few chapters will be an intro into our OFC. I want you guys to really get a sense of what and who she is before we get down and dirty dancing with the boys. Otherwise? I hope you guys enjoy this!

The boys look from the board in front of them and squint. Saif Mahdi watches them with a look of apprehension. This had been their idea and by the looks of it? Years in the making. They’re fidgeting, and not dance fidgeting. Not tapping of the toes of juts of their shoulders or the rhythmic twitch of fingers that Saif had learned about them, but the twiddling of thumbs. The chewing of their lips. The rubbing of their necks.

This was real to them. To his right he casts a glance at Barbra Fabri. She’s analyzing the board, picking at the pamphlets, scouring the pictures, the notes, reading, memorizing, doing what she does best.

And when she finally leans away she licks her lips…and nods.

     “Everything seems legit here Saif. We’d have to work hard as hell to pull this off but…it’s plausible.”

Larry and Laurent Bourgeois slap hands in a high five and emit some sort of ‘ayeeeeee’ noise into the open air.

     “Now look, she said plausible—“ he starts but Larry cuts him off, hopping up and jingling with the many rings and chains.

     “Plausible is possible Est- ce pas? (Isn’t that right?)”

Laurent is right beside him instantly, wagging a finger at Saif. He takes a snapback off one of the chairs and crams it playfully onto his brother’s head and starts pushing him towards the door.

     “We start planning—“ he starts, “Soon, yeah?”

No need to ruin the best thing that’s about to happen for them. It had been Bey’s idea really. Come to her during practice as her boys worked out a few kinks and twitches for new choero. It had been a simple idea. She’d finally clawed her way out of her heels and smiled up them both.

**_I would definitely see you guys on tour._ **

Larry at first wouldn’t let it go. Big eyes and cheesy smile and little giddy noises enough to make Laurent go mad. _A tour_ , he’d whispered that night, _Bigger than World of Dance, Lau._

_Pensez aux choses que nous pourrions faire, Lau . Pensez aux gens que nous pourrions inspirer._

( _Think of the things we could do Lau. Think of the people we could inspire.)_

Then Laurent caught the fever. Sure they could’ve immediately taken the idea to their manager and booker, and most certainly they would’ve declined. They were On The Run at the moment, and it’s the biggest thing they’ve ever accomplished. Too soon. Too much. Not ready. So they gave it two years.

And it looks like all that time paid off.

Sunlight beamed high overhead and the brother’s stop outside their studio. Quiet, energy a static electric current pulsing through them as if they were one. Their smiles are impossibly wide. Laurent’s arm across Larry’s shoulder is heavy and welcomed. A sense of assurance. Slowly Lau’s head comes to rest on Larry’s shoulder and they both relax.

     “How soon we start?” Larry whispers, rubbing at the rings on his fingers.

     “Demain—" _(Tomorrow)_

Laurent can’t help but laugh at his twin's little wiggle of excitement, even as people pass them by on this busy street in the heart of France. Clapping him on the shoulder he starts pulling him back to the studio.

     “Mais d'abord, ( _But first_ ,) we rehearse.”

Larry’s groan is soul deep but positive as he allows himself to be dragged back inside. He could never hate practice. Dancing with his brother was life. It was everything.


	2. Le problème avec les routines [The Problem with Routines]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katrina Reid loves her best friend Char, she does. So when the opportunity to help take her life to the next level presents itself to her, how could she not jump on it. Their lives are mundane. Mean nothing. And here is an opportunity for her friend to find closure over the loss of someone important and find herself a new meaning. This tour with Les Twins could be her ticket out or her ticket down. Time to break the routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like Charlotte and Katrina. I'm working on the next chapter that will hopefully skip all the unnecessary parts but trust me, I got to do a bit of research on France and the Twins home town before I can get finished with that. <3 Also, who knows anything about creating their own tour? Not me! ;___; But I'll do my best!

My name is Charlotte Gray and the south, to me, is everything. From the hot summers that brought with it tea on porches and warm summer nights of fun to the winters of hot chocolate and bon fires. What I did _not_ love was the inability of the south to offer me anything worth while. It’s not to say the south was without it’s charms, just that under present circumstances? There was nothing there for me. Tack on that there was no where else for me to go at the time? Makes for a miserable life. A job wasn’t a problem nor a place to stay. I had both, each one an upgrade from middle class but not exactly in the category of ‘elite’. Could’ve branded me with a neon sign that said _I’m trying._

 

Working at a bank can do that for you in South Carolina. But it wasn’t what I wanted to do. My best friend Katrina Reid knew that. I had spent far too much time complaining to her how there was nothing there. I had a double major degree, ready to go back for my masters (if it would be worth anything) and what was I doing? Pushing papers at a bank.

 

Which was why Katrina, in possession of her secret package, almost showed up to work _on time_.  And instantly changed my life.

  

* * *

 

       “Char!”

I look up from my stack of paper work, startled, and had to scuttle to keep papers from flying everywhere as the blonde blew in and threw the door shut behind her.

     “Damn it Kat! How many times do I have to tell you not to **do** that?” I hiss, slumping back down into my chair and placing a hand over my hammering heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Kat, waving a packet in my direction, let her lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

     “I, your best friend of twenty years—“

     “Kat we’re only 24, I didn’t meet you until college—“

     “Shut up. I, your best friend of twenty years, have found you your way out of these boondocks.  I present to you, **Les Twins.** ”

She throws the packet down onto my desk and all I can do is stare.

     “You mean the twins that dance?”

     “Yes!”

     “Twins from France. Big dance reputation?”

     “Yes Char—“

     “What the hell do they have to do with me?”

     “Charlotte,” Katrina pressed, “I thought you liked them?”

     “I _do_.” I groaned, pressing fingers to the bridge of my nose. “They’re a big inspiration for my costume designing and even some of my make up looks I’ve catalogued. But so are Johnny Depp and Lady Gaga. But what do they have to do with me Kat?”

The guilty look she gave me made my stomach twist. _This isn’t going to end well--_ The last time she looked that guilty she’d set me up on a blind date which ended with the guy behind bars and with me refusing to eat horse radish for a _week_.

     “Well you see I was picking up my niece from dance class and they had these packets. They’re being handed out everywhere or you know you can get one on line but um. See the Les Twins are doing something big.”

      “Yeah? On tour aren’t they? With, oh uh, _Beyonce_??” I shot.

     “Oh they’re going on tour alright.  Their own tour.”

     “So what? You wanna get tickets?”

I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. _This doesn’t sound so bad._ “And what? Let me guess. Gonna cost a damn fortune? 

     “Nope.”

_Shit I was wrong._

Immediately I became cautious. “Then what?”

     “Seeing as the tour isn’t ready--,” Kat drew out, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “They’re still looking for their crew to pull it all together. And I was reading the jobs needed to be filled and there are only a few. They need a creative make up designer and a costume designer…”

For a long moment I sat there, head tilted, waiting for the punch line because honestly that couldn’t be it right?

Shit, this **was** Kat I was talking about.

     “You’re crazy I’m not applying for that!” 

     “But you love them!” 

     “I don’t even dance!” 

     “Who said you had to dance to do make up and sew some clothes!? Listen,” Katrina leveled, shoulders dropping, “Every since we were kids Char you’ve been talented. You made clothes for our dolls. You made me clothes and the work you did in college and cosmetics and theater? It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. You _have_ to be miserable here. This isn’t where you belong. In a boring ass bank. Vincent wouldn’t have wanted you here.” 

My jaw worked, opened and closed before settling for pressing into a thin line. Kat was _right_ , on this rare occasion. I was miserable. It was the same thing day in and day out, get up, come to work, leave two hours later than her shift detailed, go to bed, wake up, start over. And more than once I wished I could go back to her college days. Every day was a new class, a new job, a new play I needed to create for. Just the thought made my fingers twitch.

      “Kat, you’re in over your head. Don’t you got a report to do by noon?”

My friend’s face fell, sullen at the rejection. She threw her hands up in agitation and turned for the door.

     “Fine! But years from now, where are you gonna be, huh? Sitting around mourning the loss of your brother, or doing something he’d be proud of?”

She slammed the door hard enough to shake the frame before storming off. It was a long moment before I could remember to breathe. My lungs burned, my eyes _stung_ and I swear to you it was out of agitation than sadness--

      “Screw her—“ I grumbled but there was no heat behind it. Katrina had only tried and she had been there when my little brother killed himself. I stared down at my work but all the words ran together in a blur of ink. How could I focus when all my heart wanted to do was remember?

Vincent had been a beautiful boy. Bright green eyes, light brown skin like me. He was handsome. And loved to dance. God dancing was his biggest achievement. And the world didn’t care too much now who was _gay_. Not even the dance world. But our parents? Fought as hard as politicians against it. Not like the rest of the forward growing world. He obeyed the rules, looked up to our mom and dad as if they were the perfect role models. _Ha._ Vincent put so much **stock** in our parents when we were younger. And every time he did, he wound up heart broken.They had disowned him, shamed him when he came out at 17. Took away his dancing. And sure he would dance on the street. Hell I had bought him his first proper pair of dance shoes and Vincent _shone_. Brighter than anyone I’d ever seen. He was the one who flipped over his tablet one day at my home, hit play, and I watched Les Twins, his biggest inspiration do crazy things that had even me excited.That had been Vincent’s goal. To dance. Dance his way into meeting the twins, dance with them, against them. World of Dance was his goal and if…if I had been there in his darkest hours instead of **here at work** he would’ve made it. 

But instead Vincent lost his love and his passion in less than an hour and hung himself.

The memory is still fresh, he was still wearing the sneakers I bought him, just there, _dangling—_

 

_Stop it Charlotte. Remember what your counselor said. You can’t blame yourself. Vincent wouldn’t blame me would he? God Vince, what do I do?_

 

The silence I get is deafening. A big fat nothing. Just left with my thoughts and this outrageously big package of papers.

 

_Read them._

It couldn’t hurt could it? Just to take a peek. Katrina had gone so far as to bring them to me, it would be shitty of me (or would that be _even more shitty_ after what just happened?) not to skim over it. So I open it and the first thing I pull out? A photo shot of Les Twins, mid aerial stunt, wearing vests with no shirts underneath. Just beautiful brown flawless skin and abs that looked practically sketched to perfection—

 

_Ho shit—_

I slap that onto my desk _face down_ , and move on to the rest. I noted dates, times, places, kinda cringe at how many times the word _France_ is mentioned (who and how would I even plan on getting there??) before finally sitting back after reading the last paragraph.

 

_It is our dream to do what we do. We’ve achieved that. Next? Surpass our dreams. And do it together._

_\--Larry Bourgeois_

_My brother and I? We see inspiration everywhere, in everyone. We get people who come to workshops, they not even know how to dance at all. Like, at all—but they come because they are inspired by us. And we want to keep that going. Make it bigger. Better. All us. Pure Inspiration._

_\--Laurent Bourgeois_

     Yeah I’m screwed.


	3. Le problème avec les gens riches [The Problem with rich people]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte Gray loved Paris. It was official. Of course she doesn't get to enjoy this sudden lavish life she isn't used to, just yet. As she'll come to learn with the Twins, every day is full of challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Comments:
> 
> avacadosjumping:: I'm late updating! But for you I found the will to keep trying to write this chapter until it came out semi-presentable. Though it's more Charlotte, the next will include her meeting the Twins! Thank you for the comment! <3
> 
> Special thank you to those who left kudos on this work!
> 
> Please leave some comments guys! They are greatly appreciated!

Paris was beautiful. Could’ve been the fact that I’d been cooped up in an air craft thousands of feet off the ground between a man who snored I _while_ awake and a child that didn’t seem to **sleep** that made the warm hustle and bustle of Paris welcoming. Or it might have been the way the orange burned at the clouds overhead as I exited the unloading station. Everything outside the airport looked like it had been kissed with gold. A sweet scent hung in the air, like cookies or something and it was everywhere I turned. With all my luggage though, I couldn’t go far. Thankfully I didn’t need to. I dark skinned woman with curly hair bouncing in a fro, dressed in a flannel shirt, some rather bagging jogging pants, and all black jordans made her way over to me. She had a nametag too.

 

_Mercedes_.

 

She smiled prettily at me before waving.

 

     “Charlotte Gray?”

 

She held up a glossy picture of my face complete with my name and I nodded slowly. She lit up at the confirmation as if her life was freaking complete. Jeez, was everyone this happy here?

     “I am your driver for your stay here. Would you like some help?”

 

She leaned around me, eyebrows raising comically at all my things and I could feel my lips pursing at the silent judgment. She seemed to have noticed before laughing.

 

     “Trust me, this is my happy face,” she said, voice thick with a French accent, “All the other’s arriving? I’ve seen some who brought everything short of the kitchen sink.”

 

She stooped down and grabbed as many as she could and so did it, thankfully making it to the black sports car (I have no idea why I never bothered to learn anything about cars) waiting for us outside at the curb. Seated comfortably in the back, Mercedes let down the partition as she pulled away.

 

     “Something American?”

 

     “Uh…..”

 

She hit a button up from, _Beyonce_ playing through the speakers. I won’t lie, I’m a hard core Beyonce fan. But it looked like I wasn’t alone.

 

_I know when you were little girls_

_You dreamt of being in my world_

Mercedes seemed down to let loose. And honestly I was mildly surprised that if this was her job, how lax it seemed. But who the hell cared? For those few minutes of a song, Mercedes and I were _Beyonce squared_. By the time it ended, and were done laughing, we had arrived at the hotel. I stepped out of the car with a hand on my stomach, trying to stifle more ungodly blurts of laughter from racking my frame but Mercedes was having trouble stopping herself. For the longest time we stood there before I was finally able to breathe and then I looked up. And felt myself go breathless. In front of me was one of the tallest hotels I had ever seen. Soaked in the setting sun even IT looked golden.

 

And also _far_ too expensive.

 

     “Uh…Mercedes,” I mutter, feeling my blood start to chill. There was no way my bank account could afford this. I had chosen something A LOT less flashy and 5-star-ish. Something that wouldn’t cost me an arm and a leg **and** I’d be able to eat while I was here. “This isn’t my hotel. I didn’t book this. In fact, I can’t possibly even pay for this.”

 

She was wiping away tears as she popped the trunk but her curls bounced once more as she peered over at me, bright almond eyes looking to the hotel then to me.

 

     “You were not alerted to the change, no?” My lack of words seemed to tell her all she needed to know. She scowled to the sky before disappearing back into the trunk. “Larry and Laurent Bourgeois are very big on family, qui. And though you and the others are in competition, you will quickly become a family as well. So instead all of you spread all over Paris, the Twins had everyone relocated and _upgraded_ to this hotel. You will be refunded payment from your other reservations and—,” she popped out looking satisfied at having removed all my things, “This hotel will cost you nothing. You all will be staying on the same floor. Larry and Laurent have opted as well to leave their loft home in favor of occupying the penthouse suit above the competitors.”

 

It’s an overload of information and she seems to see it when she finally looks at me. Her smile is reassuring. Reminded me of Kat and instantly I miss my best friend.

 

       “No worry,” she says, “You all have your own private suits. I will give you my contact number, and you simply call, I drive. It’s as simple as that.”

 

Yeah sure, it’s so simple my _heart_ felt like it was going to beat out of my ears. So instead I just nod my head, give her a shaky smile, and follow her into the hotel, bags in hand. The receptionist is fairly sweet, very quiet older woman. She looks up at Mercedes however, and frowns.

 

       “Voilà ce que ces garçons font que vous portez ?” _(That’s what those boys are making you wear?)_ She grumbles from behind a computer screen. Mercedes, who actually looked like she was in the same age range as me simply rolled her eyes.

 

     “So rude. Les Twins asked if we would dress down. All business and no pleasure makes for a rough life you know. This is what I wear when I dance. Now, vieille femme, I need the key card designated for Charlotte Gray.”

 

The key is forked over, sleek and silver and red. She leads the way to the elevator and I cringe at the words in _French_ , plenty that I didn’t understand.

 

       “There is a dictionary,” she winks, “In the room. In case you get a little tongue tied.”

 

     “Thank god,” I breathed, “I should’ve bought rosetta stone with me on this trip.”

 

Once we’re in the room, I get a little lightheaded. Being this breathless this damn often would eventually kill me I’m sure, but the room was big. Comfortable looking. Fit for living in for sure. We drop my bags and cases in my room and Mercedes points me in the direction of the bathroom, graciously showed me how to work the remote, the phone (which I immediately ordered room service) but then brought my attention to something on the glass table in the main living area I had missed. An all black manila envelope lay in wait, an emblem of two hands forming some kind of symbol in gold on the front. _Fancy._

     “Now that’s all you,” she gestures with a mysterious smile. She’d handed over an iphone and for a moment all I could do was stare. “And this is yours for the time being. The Twins want us all to be connected. My number is programmed inside. And now I’ll leave you to it.”

 

Numbly I take the black phone and stare at it. _The hell? What kind of crap did I get into where people have **this** much money?_

The door clicked quietly shut behind her and I flop down on the couch, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. Without Mercedes there, the envelope looked so much more menacing. Part of me wanted to call Kat, to stall because who knew what the hell was in there but I grabbed it, pried it open slowly like it was a bomb, and gently pulled out a small stack of papers. On top was a hand written letter. Words scribbled in possibly the most elegant hand writing I’d ever seen.

 

_Dear Charlotte,_

_My brother and I are sure you are weary from your travels. We thank you so much from coming all this way from America to participate in this important event. Tomorrow we can not wait for it. We will host a showcase. Nothing big or stressful. Your first day should not be scary. We ask that you come prepared to show us what you came here for and what is your reason for coming so far from home. Show us your passion in you. That is why we dance. So others can see our story in our passion._

_Sincerely,_

_Larry & Laurent Bourgeois_

Definitely screwed.

 

The rest of the papers were maps, places of interest, itineraries for my stay, and a list of numbers in case of emergencies. Tiredly I flopped back onto the couch, already sleepy. Great. First night in Paris and I already had my work cut out for me. What was I doing here? What could I do? They seemed like simple questions sure, but answering them would be so much harder. I only got up at the knock at my hotel door.

 

     “Room service!”

 

Dragging my feet to the door I quietly and graciously took the meal. I made myself comfortable on the couch, the large screen tv protruding from the wall showing my blurry reflection. Now in pajamas, my hair tied up and out of my face, my laptop, tablet, and phone scattered about me, and a notebook in my lap, I set to work, sticking the first forkful of _hachis parmentier_ in my mouth and set to work. (Good lord the food was heaven). Judging from my itinerary for tomorrow, we would not need to be at the studio until 11am.

 

I could do this… _Right?_


End file.
